Red Snow
by Anthony MMXII
Summary: A different version of The War of the Five Kings, with Robb being the protagonist and main POV. Follow Robb, Jon, Bolton, Umber, and more as the Northern and Riverlands hosts carve a Kingdom for the King of the North. No Slash
1. II

Red Snow

Chapter II: Big Things Have Small Beginnings

Robb

"What is the final count, Lord Bolton?" Robb asked as he rode on horseback through the assembled Northmen host. Robb was only one and nine, but was in command of an entire host of Northmen. He sat tall and proud on a massive ebony stallion, gifted by his father before he went south to serve as the Hand. He was tall, six foot four inches with brown hair, which in the light appeared copper in color. A close cropped beard adorned his face. He had serious grey eyes, identical to his father's, that made both great and lesser men listen to his words. He, his family, and household had only recently learned of his father's demise, whom automatically passed on the lordship to Robb, but Robb already commanded the respect of his banner men, with bold words and bolder actions.

Robb was affected most by his father's death out of all five of his siblings. Robb had known him longest and spent many days under his tutelage. Lord Eddard Stark started to teach him the ways of a Lord as early as five name days. Sometimes he would learn with his bastard brother Jon, but mostly it was his father and him. Eddard and Maester Luwin would teach battle tactics and politics, how to conduct oneself in the presence of all manner of people, to always be humble, stern, proud in the face of adversary, and brave when others are not.

When his mother first told him with teary eyes the manner and means of his father's death he did not react. He took the new unflinchingly, as others were watching. It was not until he found himself alone in the comforting silence of the Godswood, and under the soothing presence of the somber face of the heart tree, did he finally tear.

The letter from Grand Maester Pycelle explained the events leading to his father's death. He explained how Eddard tried to seize the throne after King Robert's death, how he conceived lies of Joffrey's parentage as a means to do so, and how he was mercifully granted his life if he relinquished all titles and joined the Night's Watch, but was deemed to dangerous and was beheaded under orders from the new King Joffrey. Pycelle made no mention of the guards that accompanied his father south. _It is good none of my siblings were allowed to journey south, or they all would end up dead, or worse, _Robb thought bitterly.

Robb and all his family knew Eddard would never commit such treason. He only traveled south for the sake of his best friend King Robert. The whole realm knew Eddard to be honorable to a fault, and if anyone believed the charges of high treason to be just, then they truly did not know Lord Eddard.

The host was gathered at the outskirts of Winterfell, near the Wolfswood. Robb had waited a moon's turn and a half for his bannermen to arrive. They had come from all places of the North. Flying above the various camps flew their respective flags. He spotted the Umber giant, a flayed man, a white sun, crossed axes, a merman, and much and more, but above all flew the direwolf of Stark against a white banner. _That _is what his host was marching for, for the honor of Winterfell and of his father, and for the honor of his mother's family, the Tullys, whose lands and small folk were being brutalized by the belligerent Lannisters.

The men were preparing themselves for the long march south. The supply wagons were getting stocked with salt, cheese, ale, turnips, onions and carrots. Pigs, chickens, sheep, and cows were being tied up. Men were folding tents and sharpening their weapons. Most of the soldiers were outfitted in leather and fur coats and equipped with swords or axes, but just as many had nothing but iron scythes from their own farms.

"Let's see, I believe the final count is twelve thousand foot and eight thousand horse, my Lord. The majority coming from the Stark lands and the Manderly lands." Bolton replied quietly, reflecting is observant and cold personality. Roose Bolton was a slight man, Robb stood nearly a head taller than him. His quiet confidence radiated power and promised pain. He had short cut salt and pepper hair, and, strangely in the North, he went without a beard. He was wearing a simple leather tunic with the flayed man on his breast.

"Well enough I suppose, although out numbered by the Lannisters by nearly fifteen thousand soldiers." Robb said despondently.

"Do not forget, My Lord, that our numbers will swell when we combine forces with the Riverlands." Bolton replied.

"If they haven't all starved by then." Robb responded pessimistically. Riverrun was currently besieged by Lannister forces, commanded by the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister.

"Let us hope they have not, for we must conclude this war speedily. We must return these men home before winter comes, do not forget this my Lord." Bolton advised.

"You and I both know that the Lannisters will not be defeated easily. They will fight nail and tooth for the Iron Throne." Robb replied.

"Come, let us return, I can smell the shit from the latrines, and besides we must convene once more for all final preparations," Robb said. Bolton nodded and they trotted back to the hunter's gate.

The Winter Town surrounded Winterfell. It is protected by two outer walls, and in between the two walls lay a moat fifty feet across. The portcullis was already lowered when they arrived. The two guards bowed their heads respectfully as the two lords passed beneath the raised iron gate. Rob was so unused to the Lordship that he assumed they were speaking too Roose Bolton. To be honest Robb was scared. Scared of failure and of disappointing the thousands of men gathered to fight for _him._ If only his father hadn't gone south and died, then he wouldn't be forced unto this situation.

The Winter Town was in a flurry of commotion on the evening of the seventh day of the week. Although Northerners didn't worship the Seven like the Southerners, they still took the seventh day as a recess from the monotony of their laborious work. Cobblers and smiths and shop owners alike all gathered in taverns and squares to socialize and enjoy the summer while it lasted.

There were jugglers and bards amusing the folk, while vendors sold sweet fruits of the south too curious Northerners. The Northern terrain was harsh and unforgiving. The nutrient deprived soil yielded very few crops, and even fewer fruit trees. What the North lacked in food it made up for in raw materials. The North had tens of thousands of mines, that procured iron, copper, tin, and in rare instances silver.

As the pair of Lords passed the small folk they bowed and whispered "M'Lord." Robb saw they were afraid and wondered what he was doing wrong. It was not until halfway through the town did he notice they were glancing warily at Bolton and not him. It seems rumors of the flayed man reached all people. Although the torture practice of flaying was outlawed in the North, it was still practiced in the deepest dungeons for the most nefarious of criminals, and that must be why they are frightened of Bolton.

They soon approached the massive granite inner walls that protected the castle itself. They were nearly double the height of the outer walls and twice as thick. The guardsmen recognized him and shouted, "Open the gate!"

They dismounted and handed the steeds off to a pair of stable boys. As soon as his feet touched the ground a mass of thick grey fur bounded lightning fast to him. It was his direwolf Grey Wind.

"Hey there, pup!" He smiled as he ruffled the wolf's matted hair. The wolf was light grey with small mixtures of brown, but his head was a darker shade. His eyes were a feral color of yellow, surrounded by black circles, that glowed in a moonless night. At two years old the wolf was already twice as large as all the dogs in the kennel, and larger than his brother's and sister's wolves. He was the pack leader, like Robb himself.

"I wouldn't let it sleep next to you, my Lord. Many men before you have tried and failed to domesticate direwolves, unicorns, the like. This one is no different." Bolton quipped as Grey Wind turned his attention towards the flayed man. The giant wolf sauntered over and started to sniff the man.

"He has slept at my foot since we found him, my Lord, I'm sure if he truly was as hostile as you say, I believe he would have torn my throat out by then, Gods know he's big enough." Robb responded sharply. "Put you hand out, let him sniff you. No man can lie so well as to fool a wolf, it is the ultimate test of character." Bolton uneasily stuck out his hand. Grey Wind sniffed and circled the man. Bolton looked nervous, but not scared. _What is he thinking? _Robb thought. The wolf backed off with out a sound, but still had his yellow eyes fixated on Bolton. "He thinks you odd, but with no ill intentions." Robb said. He did not know how it worked, but Grey Wind and he could feel what the other felt, almost as if they were one and the same.

"My Lord!" Someone said. Both Robb and Bolton turned, each expecting themselves to be addressed. It was maester Luwin. "My Lord Stark, your council awaits you in your solar." Luwin explained. Luwin was a short, grey old man. Robb stood a head and a half taller than him, and had been taller since he was one and four. He had kindly eyes, shrouded by bushy grey eyebrows, and surrounded by many wrinkles, accumulated over his many years. He wore a long grey robe, and a chain around his neck, consisting of many different metals, that signified his fields of expertise. As a child Robb found that chain so very interesting. When Luwin was holding him, he would tug and pull at it, all the while giggling and laughing.

"Good, tell my brother to meet us there, and you will stay as well." Robb ordered the man who always ordered _him_ around.

"My Lord? I should think that Brandon is a little too young for a _war council." _Luwin replied crisply, obviously thinking the idea foolish.

"Oh that's right you don't know. Lord Bolton, excuse us, if you will." The man nodded and left. "Who I mean is my brother Jon." Robb expanded.

"But he is currently at the Wall, is he not? Your Lady mother would not have him live at Winterfell without your father." Luwin questioned, dumbfounded. Luwin was always one of Robb's favorite people in the castle. He always had a treat or a toy in one of his many pockets, and he was always teaching Robb something new, or giving him bits of advice. His younger brothers, Brandon and Rickon, always hated the sessions with Maester Luwin. Unlike him, they were not first born. They would inherit nothing. He absorbed all the information he could, history of Westeros, reading, writing, speaking, because he new, one day, it would be valuable for when he ruled the North.

"That's what he _told _them, but I hid him. He is currently boarding with Mikken in the forge. I would not have my closest friend, _and, _as much as my mother loathes me saying, mybrother, rot on the gods forsaken Wall. He is coming to war with me." Robb explained. "And, from what I've seen he has become quite proficient at the forge. It did him some good. So, see you soon."

"Yes, My Lord," he said as he left, towards the forge.

Robb sighed as he looked down at his faithful companion. "So much to do, so much responsibility, maybe I should run off to the Wall, would you like the Wall Grey Wind?" He asked the wolf. The wolf whined pitifully and sneezed, sending green goop all over his trousers. Robb found himself laughing for the first time in weeks. "Ha! I take that as a no then, c'mon pup, we got work to do."

Robb slowly walked towards the Great Keep. The Great Keep was a large circular building made of granite. It was built over hot springs to keep it war, which flow through the walls. It holds the rooms of the noble family and the Lord's solar. The basement holds the entrances to underground tunnels that connected to basements all over Winterfell, which served as a place to keep warm in the cold of winter.

As Robb and Grey Wind passed the stables all the horses neighed in fright at the sight of the menacing wolf, all except for Robb's stallion, Moonless. Hullen, the master of horse, was personally grooming the beast. Hullen was the best horse trainer in the North, and he had trained Moonless from pony to stallion. Also in the stables was Harwin, Hullen's son, Joseth, and the simpleminded giant-man, Hodor. Robb avoided the stables for fear of causing another fiasco with the horses, due to Grey Wind.

The castle was abuzz with activity. The _dinking _sound of a hammer beating steel in the forge reverberated of the granite walls, servants ran to and from the kitchens, guest house, and Great Keep, holding plates of food and jugs of wine, dogs from the kennels were barking and yapping excitedly, Ser Rodrick Cassel was overlooking a spar between his father's ward Theon and TomToo. TomToo was the son of Tomard, who went south with his father, and died with him too. TomToo was Robb's squire. He was a remarkable swordsman for his age, and an aspiring knight. He was one and five and was humbly trouncing his five year elder, Theon, with his wooden long sword.

"Keep your sword up! Parry! Parry! What's wrong with you? Do you like getting killed?" Ser Rodrick yelled at Theon, who, on the best of days, was a sub-par swordsman.

After getting whacked for the umpteenth time Theon threw down his sword and shouted, "There's no use! I won't stand here and let myself be assaulted by this maniac!" Covered in bruises, Theon stormed off. Robb, Jon, and Theon had grown as boys too men together in Winterfell. As young boys they explored the castle. They would dare each other to enter the ominous crypts that housed Starks, long, gone, and forgotten. They would traverse the subterranean tunnels that crisscrossed the castle and winter town. Jon and Robb would sword fight and learn the lance with Ser Rodrick, while Theon practiced archery. As they grew older they began to experiment with girls. Being older, Theon started first. Robb was easy to convince, but Jon refused, relenting only once, claiming it was irresponsible and selfish to sire a bastard, like himself. Robb and Theon would scour the kitchens, looking for an unconquered wench, or pay extra at one of the few Winter Town brothels for an unsullied virgin, always careful to keep their endeavors secret. All throughout their friendship they never discussed such sensitive subjects, like Theon's status as a 'hostage', or Jon's disgraceful status as a baseborn bastard, as proof that Eddard was mortal and not so honorable.

One time Robb asked Maester Luwin who Jon's mother was. _"I will you what I know, only if you promise never to tell Jon, or anyone else for that matter." Robb promised. "Well, no one knows for sure except your father and Jon's mother, but there are some rumors. Rumors, mine you, are just that, rumors based on mere speculation. I have heard personally from many people that your father fell in love with Ashara Dayne at the Tourney at Harrenhal. She became pregnant and birthed a boy. Some say the reason she threw herself off a tower was because your father took him away, to be raised here, in Winterfell."_

At the time he didn't know who the woman was, or even House Dayne. Afterward he looked them up in the library. House Dayne of Starfall: from the far southern deserts of Dorne. Robb was amazed that Jon could come from such an extreme opposite environment as their current home. _Ice and fire. _He had wanted to tell Jon so very badly, but kept his promise to Luwin, keeping his father's words in mind, _a man who breaks his promises is no man at all._

"You are growing more proficient every day TomToo. One day you will rival the Kingslayer himself, or even Arthur Dayne." Robb praised.

"Thank you m'lord, Ser Rodrick is an excellent instructor." TomToo replied, deflecting the compliment.

"Yes, yes he is." Rob chuckled. TomToo was tall and lithe. He had shaggy black hair and sparkling emerald eyes. Many girls fawned over him, laughing as they tell him how cute he is. But under the innocent exterior is a warrior who will one day kill many men. Robb turned to Ser Rodrick. Ser Rodrick was of an average height, but much broader with huge shoulder, and an even larger stomach. He had a red face, framed with long grey sideburns and short grey hair. He had small blue eyes hidden behind rosy cheeks and under bushy eyebrows.

"I hear you have begun to teach Rickon the basics? How fares he?" Robb questioned the older man, who drilled into him the ins and outs of swordsmanship, like he was doing currently with TomToo.

"Aye. He is eager to learn, and is taking to it like fish to water, but he is stubborn, and insists on doing things how he prefers. I'll show him how it's done soon enough, I've tamed a lot wilder than him, trust me my Lord." Ser Rodrick explained.

"I'll have words with him, I'll leave you to it. Ser, Tom." he nodded to them both as he continued onwards. Robb approached the huge oak doors of the Great Keep and nodded to the two men standing guard. Robb remembered something his father told him. _Acknowledge everyone, no matter how low born or if others do not. Eye contact is key in earning respect._

Robb climbed the circular staircase to the top floor, where his chambers and solar were, with Grey Wind trotting silently behind. The solar was a dark, candle lit room, with only one small window. A large circular table stood in the center surrounded by fifteen chairs. On the table lay a massive, extremely detailed, map of Westeros.

Sitting in the fifteen chairs were men of varying scruff and smell, of height and weight, and of patience and impatience. In attendance was Jon Umber, Roose Bolton, Robin Flint, Medger Cerwyn, Haly Hornwood, Rickard Karstark, Donnel Locke, Wendel Manderly, Dacey Mormont, Maester Luwin, and finally his bastard brother Jon. "Welcome all, my Lords, my Lady, Sers." Robb welcomed as he took the chair at the far north of the map, which was slightly larger than the rest. Grey Wind lay down at his feet.

"Our host will march first light tomorrow, with the intention of liberating Riverrun and avenging my father, who was unjustly and falsely accused of high treason and executed without a trial." Robb began. "Now, Lord Bolton will command the vanguard, along with Lords Cerwyn and Hornwood. You will command five thousand horse, equipped with sword and bow. The Greatjon, Lords Karstark, Manderly, and I will command the twelve thousand foot. We will march south along the Kingsroad until we meet the Twins – here." at this point Robb moved the two stone carvings of a horse and of a soldier dressed in plate armor down the Kingsroad to the Twins.

"At this point we will hope to cross the Twins and continue south to Riverrun." Robb moved the horse and soldier to Riverrun, where a lion was waiting. Further south at Harrenhal stood another lion, representing Tywin Lannister's forces." Robb finished.

"And if the Freys refuse us passage? What then?" Bolton question.

"We CRUSH them!" the Greatjon yelled, slamming his massive fists on the table, knocking over a few empty cups of wine. "We come for the aid of their liege, they would not dare hinder us." Umber settled.

"The Freys are greedy, power hungry, and have a history of ill deeds. I would not put it pass them to refuse us purely out of spite." Maester Luwin explained. "Walder Frey has many sons and grandsons with nothing to inherit. He looks for any opportunity to expand his lands. But we cannot afford to engage them openly. We must save our power for the Lannisters."

"If that is the case we will have to cross the Ruby Ford and travel north from there, a huge detour. It is within close reach of Harrenhal. We cannot risk that." Jon added.

"This is all merely speculation. We can only accurately discuss this matter once we reach the Twins." Robb said. "Now in the Neck I will leave a garrison of five hundred archers at Moat Cailin. They will also repair it as best they can. Also at this point we will await a ship from Barrowton, which will resupply us before marching further. Further south we will meet up with Howland Reed who will join us on our march. Any questions?" they shook their heads and stayed silent. "Good. We will see each other on the morrow." Robb dismissed. The meeting was short and straightforward.

All left except for Jon. "Hello smith. How fares the forge?" Robb asked playfully.

"I just finished making a sword, Mikken said it was the worst he ever saw." Jon stated with a humor only found with Robb or their siblings. Jon and Robb looked dissimilar, save for their eyes, which matched their father's exactly. Jon had the coloring of a true Stark, while Robb that of the Tullys. Robb and Jon always found that funny. _The bastard looks trueborn, and the trueborn looks the bastard._ Sometimes they joked Robb and Jon were switched at birth and Jon was really the heir of Winterfell. Jon had a long, somber face. His face had a look that was handsome and intelligent, but always sad, like he had seen the horrors of war, the plight of the common man, or the suffering of tortured souls in the black dungeons of King's Landing. Jon was not as tall or as wide as Robb, even though they were the same age. Jon was better on horse with a lance, but Robb was better with sword and shield.

"I cannot believe we are doing this, Jon. We dreamed of going off to war as boys, but now it's actually happening, and I'm scared." Robb admitted.

"I know, me too. But, I for one, do not envy you. Everyone is always watching you, observing, criticizing, sometimes I'm thankful I'm a bastard." Jon said. "Saying all that, I think you will do an excellent job."

"With you at my side, brother?" Robb asked.

"Always." Jon replied, serious as ever. They both burst into laughter and hugged one another.

"Now get some sleep brother, this will be the last time you sleep in a real bed for a while." Robb said as they both got up. They made their good byes and went their separate ways. Jon, down the stairs toward the smith, and Robb up stairs to his private chambers.

The sun had reached the horizon in the west, and cast shadows over the snowy castle as if the building were mountains. Winter was less than a year away. At night it touched freezing, but whatever snow or ice that was left in the morning melted. All that would change. Snow would pile until it reached the height of the outer wall. Robb couldn't remember what a true northern winter was like. He grew up in the long summer, like all people his age. It was good that Winterfell was built over hot springs, or else the old Kings of North might have froze in their beds long ago. The Kings of North slept in the very same room and the very same bed that he did. Knowing that generations and generations of Starks used his bed to create the next generation was very frightening indeed, especially how his mother and father conceived his brothers and sister in this very bed.

The Lords chambers were large. A feather filled bead stood centrally against the wall opposite of the only window. The window faced east, as too let the morning sun wake the sleeping nobility. There was a polar bear pelt at the foot of the bed, white as the falling snow. There was a pine desk against a wall, and a large tapestry depicting a direwolf running in the Wolfswood in the cold of winter. There was a seperate room that housed two privies and a bath, which was easily filled with hot water from the water running through the walls.

As Robb entered he noticed someone already curled up under the snow leopard furs of the bed. It was a woman with dark blonde hair fanned out over the pillow. Hair like rays, and her face the sun.

"What are you doing here?" Robb asked with a smile. She had hazel eyes and delicate features, and a dimpled smile that always made him smile too. She was pretty, but no where near as beautiful as his sister Sansa, or his mother, Catelyn.

"Can't a girl give her Lord his 'going to war' present?" Jeyne Poole said playfully, eyes lighting up as she saw him.

"Of course a girl can." Robb said as he began to remove his clothes.

She sat up, revealing the milky white skin of her breasts, and pink nipples that stood rigid in the cool room. "Get in here and fuck me." She giggled as he jumped in under the covers.

"Those dirty words don't sound right coming from a pretty little lady, but damn, stop talking." Robb smirked as he latched his mouth to hers.

* * *

Robb had a dream that night, similar to many before. He was a wolf, but not just any, a direwolf. He was Grey Wind. He was bigger than any other meat-eater in the woods. Bigger than all five of his pack-mates. They were his brothers and his sisters, bore from the same she-wolf. He barred his teeth, revealing incisors as big as daggers. His nose smelled things he never smelled before. The smells overwhelmed him. He smelled stags and does and bluejays and turkeys and their smaller cousins. He smelled the blood of a dying rabbit, and a fox too. He smelled his siblings, and they smelled him too. They knew each other. They trusted each other. He was their alpha. It was his duty to protect them, to lead them.

The nagging pain in their bellies drove them away from the unnatural walls of the man-den, where they stood guard over their own men and she-men.

The sun would come up soon. It was the hour of the wolf. The pack ran and ran through the frigid premorning air looking for a fresh scent. The cold did not affect them. They were predators built to withstand the winds of winter.

The wind blew especially hard, sending icy flakes at his sensitive snout. He froze. He smelled it. They smelled it too. It was close. The pack began to stalk, slowly and quietly through the thin layer of snow. The massive sentinels and pines cast the hole woods in shadow, concealing their movement.

They came upon it in a large clearing. It was a caribou. It was fat with mangy brown fur and a pair of many pointed antlers, sharp and dangerous. It was grazing on a patch of grass, unaware of it's impending disparity. The six wolves got closer and closer and spread out to surround it, until, finally, it realized it was quiet. It looked up sharply, searching the dark underbrush for any signs of danger. It's eyes must have been weak, because it went right back to chewing, oblivious and ignorant.

He howled, loud and deep. It jumped and ran from the sound. The others jumped out, it was surrounded. It's eyes turned from content to frightened to terrified. It ran. They chased. The beast had no chance in the first place. It had a fraction of a chance against a pack of regular wolves, yet alone direwolves.

He latched his razor teeth onto it's hindquarters. His pack mate did so too. It fell quickly. He trotted quickly to it's neck. He could feel the beast's heart pump blood faster and faster, as it lay, defenseless, and at the mercy of a merciless predator. The beast withered and bucked, attempting to flee, with disappointing results. He sank his teeth in it's neck. The beast kicked and squirmed and whinnied pitifully as his fearful eyes turned dark and lifeless. It was at peace, released from it's meaningless existence.

The blood entered his mouth. He lapped it greedily. It was good. It tasted of copper, and was sweet. He howled. They howled. It was heard for leagues.

They fed on the sweet meat. He ate first. He ate the softest and best portions. He ate the liver and the eyes and the soft stomach. His pack-mates followed. They all took their turns, until, lastly, the smallest fed. He was completely black, with shaggy fur and green, haunting eyes.

* * *

Robb awoke to the morning sun with the taste of blood on his tongue. It was real. He awoke many times like this, now, he was convinced the dreams were real. He rose and searched for Grey Wind. He was sleeping peacefully, curled up at the foot of Robb's bed. _How does he do that? _Robb thought. _If the dreams were real, how did he get here? _Robb decided he would ask his siblings if they ever had any similar dreams, before he would leave with his army.

As if he sensed his gaze, Grey Wind's eyes opened, to reveal his predatory yellow eyes. The wolf rose and stepped uncertainly across the feather bed to Robb, like he did every morning. The wolf licked his face, his brow and mouth. The first thing Robb noticed was that Grey Wind's teeth were stained red, and his tongue tasted of blood, just like the dream.

"I wish I could just ask you, pup." Robb whispered. "I could learn so much from you." In response the wolf gazed into his eyes, as if he were trying to communicate through thoughts alone, before curling back into a ball. He sighed and turned toward his lover. He found her awake already, woken by the movements and noises.

"You talk to him like he's a person." Jeyne giggled as she kissed him lightly.

"Of course. He's a better listener than most people I know." Robb said mischievously, as he looked pointedly at her.

"Hey!" She admonished, playfully hitting him. They lay there for awhile, enjoying each others warmth and presence.

Finally he broke the silence, "You should get moon tea from Luwin." Robb said, sighing. "I don't want to plant a baby in your belly."

"Maybe it won't be unwanted, Robb. I want to have your baby." She said as she bit her lip, and rolled on top of him. She reached down between his legs and stroked his cock to hardness.

"Jeyne, no. you don't know what you're saying. You know you and I could never be married, a child will only cause complications with your future husba-" He got no further as he moaned as she sank down, enveloping him in her folds. He lost his thought as he became entranced with Jeyne's masterful movements. Her heavy freckled tits bounced to and fro. Her back arched and they both moaned as they finished.

"Jeyne, you don't understand!" Robb yelled angrily as she rolled off him. He rose from the bed and began to dress. "We can't be married. Ever! I am Lord of Winterfell and you, you are merely, a steward's girl!" Robb ranted as Jeyne began to cry. "You are a lovely girl, Jeyne, really, but you knew what this was from the start, and don't pretend otherwise." Robb finished as he stormed out the room, Grey Wind at his heels.

"But I love you Robb! I love you!" Jeyne whispered loudly at his retreating form. He paused for half a second, and contemplated turning back and comforting her, and loving her, but sense won and he left, leaving the sobbing girl to her tears and memories.

Outside the room he spotted the Captain of the Guardsman's successor Hallis Mollen. "Hallis, don't let her back in their." Robb told him, referring to his chambers.

"Of course m'lord." He responded. Robb continued down to the bottom floor of the keep where he would be eating privately with the rest of his family. He entered the dining room and found it already occupied by his family.

"You're late." His mother Catelyn noticed. She had long auburn hair and bright blue eyes. She was dressed in stark grey and white, with a direwolf brooch pinned to her breast, and wore a pearled hairpin. She was long considered an epitome of high born beauty and sensuality throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Many considered it wasteful for her to marry into such a lonely and desolate family like the Starks. But, since his father's death, her age became more pronounced. Her eyes were dull, she no longer took pride in her appearance, and seemed to get up every day only by extreme effort.

"Yes mother, I'm late. I apologize." Robb said curtly as he sat opposite her at the head of the table and started to eat the sugared ham and drink sweet wine.

"You know what your father said about tardiness?" Catelyn reminded him. _How could I forget? Tardiness is perceived as laziness, and reflects ill upon your character. _Robb remembered one of Lord Eddards many, _many, _rules.

"He is no longer here, mother. It is no use reminding us of our dead father." Robb said bitterly, still upset about Jeyne, and even about his father's untimely passing.

"How dare you speak like that in front of your brothers and sisters!" She yelled, angrily. "You have no right, your father would roll in his grave if he could see how you are acting!"

"Enough!" Robb yelled in what Jon and Theon called his 'battle-voice'. "I cannot deal with this today, of all days, mother." Robb told his mother coldly, in no mood for stern parenting. She closed her mouth and stopped whatever she was about to say, resorting to staring venomously at him. Throughout the exchange his siblings stayed quiet and meek, hiding behind their plates as if the harsh words would turn into rocks.

They all ate silently for a couple of minutes, mulling over the words of the argument and what it meant to them, individually. For Robb it was his mother's attempt at resurrecting his father and jamming his philosophies down his throat. He would learn how to lead and run the North on his own. _If father was so wise, how did he get himself killed_ Robb mused darkly.

"Where's Jeyne, Robb?" Sansa asked, innocently, knowing full well where she would be. Usually Vayon and Jeyne Poole would dine with the Starks, Vayon being the Steward of the castle, who was in charge of day to day events and discussed them with Eddard, or recently Robb, and Jeyne, who was Sansa's best friend, and Rob's 'special' friend, although Sansa and Catelyn (unknown to Robb), were the only ones who knew of Robb and Jeyne's relationship.

Sansa was an extraordinary beauty. She was a copy of their mother at her age, but instead had a lighter color of red hair and blue eyes.

At this Catelyn looked up sharply, listening keenly to what he might say next. Robb just responded coolly, "How should I know?" Sansa's sickly sweet smile disappeared and was replaced instead by a befuddled frown.

"Bran, how comes your training?" Robb asked.

"Good!" He said enthusiastically. "Ser Rodrick said that all the climbing I used to do helps a lot with balance and footwork. Ser Rodrick had me duel with Calon. I _almost _won." Bran continued. Calon was another son of a guardsman, and Robb's other squire, who, along with TomToo, would be riding south with him.

"Impressive. One day you will beat me, I'm sure of it." Robb praised. Bran was one and one and in the middle stages of his sword stages. He had shoulder length brown hair and blue Tully eyes. He had a knack for climbing, and did so every chance he could. He hadn't fallen yet.

Robb continued to make conversation with his siblings, plaintively ignoring his mother. He asked Sansa how her needle working coming along, and Arya about her hawking expeditions. Robb had still not gotten used to the change in relationship between his sibling and he. Ever since he became Warden of the North they treated him differently, as if he was suddenly an outsider, and not privy to their adventures, like he used to be. He found it saddening. He no longer had the time or the energy to watch Bran climb, or tease Sansa, much less go practice archery with Arya and Theon.

Deep down Robb was relieved he would be leaving behind the prison Winterfell had become. Sleeping in a bed that he felt he stole from his mother, hosting Lords as if they forgot his father already, and the ever growing distance growing between his siblings and he. The responsibility, the stares, the expectations, It was driving him mad. He yearned to be free, to find release from the monotony of leadership, even if freedom came at the price of war. A war in which thousands of northmen might perish, leaving their children fatherless, their farms without a farmer, and always, _always, _with the threat of an unprepared winter looming over the minds of every North man, like the clouds that hung over Winterfell, waiting to release their snowy prize.

Robb excused himself, suddenly he no longer had an appetite. "Excuse me family, I must attend pressing matters, I will see you again within the hour for farewells."

Robb left quickly, unwilling to meet their sullen gazes. He could imagine what they were thinking. _First father and now _him, _who is left? _Robb was lost and he needed guidance. He found himself walking past the armory to the Godswood. Robb came to cherish the Godswood as of late. Inside menial things slipped from your mind, disappearing like fog over White Harbor. Noises from the surrounding castle did not penetrate the thick mangrove of trees. The whispering wind soothed his worries, and the ancient face of the Heart Tree relaxed his body and mind.

Robb sat on the damp, mossy rock his father used to, between the Heart Tree and the black, glassy pond, like hundreds of Starks have done before him. As a boy his father took him here often to talk. It was said that no man can lie in the presence of a Heart Tree. Robb found that to be true. The face was long and sad. It reminded him of Jon's face. It's eyes were red dripping with red sap, resembling tears. It was a beautiful thing. _A true crime the Andals cut all these down _Robb thought. Robb had seen the Sept where his mother worshiped, and unlike Sansa he preferred the Godswood and it's cold, harsh, allure.

He prayed for the safety of his family, his friends, and the men marching in his honor. "_If you could take me and spare them, I would happily give myself to you." _He whispered. As expected he got no no obvious answer. But he didn't need a verbal confirmation, he just needed the words heard and accepted. That was enough for him. But something _did _happen. The wind whispered louder than usual. The gods spoke and he listened. The eyes of the Heart Tree changed. They were sympathetic and understanding. They were giving encouragement, nourishing his soul with belief and faith. He grinned. _They heard._

* * *

Robb left the Godswood content. He no longer felt anxious or nervous, but calm and composed. He knew he needed to set an example for his people and for his family. _If they are to respect me _and _come to love me, I must be dignified and humble, stern and charitable. _He decided. The sun was ascending higher and higher by the second. It would soon be noon and finally time to march.

Robb made the short walk to the smithy through the bustling courtyard. The forge was a good sized building. Big enough to hold the equipment, storage space, and two bedrooms. He found the smithy Mikken shirtless at the forge pounding at a glowing red steel sword. Mikken was a large broad chested man. He was bald and had a pointy black mustachio. His arms were massive. Twice around the size of Robb's. Two apprentices were pumping the forge and assisting Mikken.

"Hello m'Lord!" He said enthusiastically. He was a kind man. Easy to laugh and smile. Robb once told him he would have been an excellent warrior. He responded by saying he didn't have the heart to kill a man, just heart enough to create the tools to allow it.

"Hello. I'm here for my armor." Robb said.

"Of course. Boy! Go get yer Lord's armor and sword!" He yelled at one of his apprentices. He scurried off through a door. At this Jon came out.

"Greetings brother. Did you find armor that fitted?" Robb asked.

"Yes. I scoured the armory for hours looking for some. I was just about to get it on." Jon answered. At this the apprentice came out with his armor and sword. He handed the armor to the other boy and knelt, holding up the sheathed longsword. Robb pulled the sword out of it's scabbard.

"Beautiful." Robb said. It was Valyrian steel. It was black, and rippled in the light, like the icy waters of Long Lake. "Frost Bite." He said. It was the Stark's only other Valyrian steel weapon. It was hidden away in the armory for hundreds of years, collecting dust. Robb gave it a few practice swings. It was lighter than any other weapon he handled. It was five feet long and cut through the air with ease. The pommel was encrusted with cut sapphire, and the hilt was textured to represent intertwined branches.

"I didn't have to do anything to it. It was sharp as the day it was forged." Mikken explained. "Now the armor I created from scratch to match your specifications." He continued as he held up the armor for examination. The armor was beautiful, befitting of a true Northman. The steel plating was carved with intricate patterns and enameled with gleaming copper and silver. The defining piece was the helmet. It was what Robb was truly excited about. It was a wolf's head. It looked remarkably similar to Grey Wind with the open mouth, where his head would go, showing the fearsome teeth of his wolf. The eyes were made of beaten gold and two black pearls. It truly was a sight to behold. The two boys strapped him in, including the gauntlets and the helmet.

"How do I look?" Robb asked.

"Amazing."

"Fearsome."

"Like a true King of the North." Jon praised.

"Come. It is time." Robb told Jon. The plate armor was not what he was used to. He did not have the same range of movement as simple leather clothes, but it provided massive amounts of protections, making him nearly invincible to the ill trained and ill equipped small folk. "Farewll Mikken. You truly did a wonderful job." Robb said.

"Thank you M'Lord. I hope you come back in one piece. You too Jon." Mikken said.

"Me too, me too." Robb responded.

As Jon was getting on his armor Robb walked next door to the stables where he would retrieve Moonless. The stallion was dressed in matching armor. He had a large plate covering the front of his torso all the way up his neck until it ended into his helmet. His his quarters were protected as well, and his feet were protected with gauntlets. Under the saddle lay a white banner with a direwolf pattern repeated over the entirety.

"Impressive." Robb told Harwin.

"Truly a terrifying sight. Imagine this beast charging at you with a fully plated Lord wielding a Valyrian longsword on top. Lannister swine will quiver at the sight." Harwin joked, gazing appreciatively at his work.

With the help of Harwin and Hodor Robb mounted the great stallion. Atop the steed Robb felt like he could defeat anyone. "Farewell."

"M'Lord." Harwin said.

"Hodor." Hodor said, unsurprisingly.

Jon arrived and together they rode out together back to the Great Keep, where he would make his final goodbyes to his family and household. His family was there, along with their wolves and Grey Wind. He dismounted and greeted his family. He then said goodbye to each one. He started with Rickon. Rickon was seven years old. He had messy dark brown hair, almost black.

"Goodbye little brother. When I come back you will be taller than Smalljon. I will miss you." Rickon giggled with teary eyes.

"Don't go Robby." He said, using the name he said as a baby.

Robb hugged him and whispered. "Don't worry, I won't be gone long. Back in time for your next name day."

"Okay." He said, wiping his nose. He turned to Bran.

"Keep practicing your sword and listen to Luwin when he tutors you. What he teaches is very important. Do you understand? You will need to know these things in case I never come back. You are the Lord now." He nodded. They hugged and Robb ruffled his hair. Little Arya was actually wearing a dress, and she wasn't even tugging at it, understanding the seriousness of the moment.

"Wow. It's amazing how beautiful you look without being covered in dirt." Robb said to her. She stuck out her tongue playfully. Their father always said that Arya was identical in looks and personality to his sister Lyanna. "Behave yourself young lady. Listen to Mother and Luwin. They only want the best for you." He said as he kissed her cheek and hugged her.

Lastly was Sansa, who he knew longest and gotten to know best. She was one and seven, two years younger than he. She was a woman grown, and looked it. She had a generous bosom and stood tall, slightly taller than their mother. "Goodbye sister. When I get back we will have to find a husband for you, and you can help find a wife for me." He said.

She smiled, teary eyed. "Come back brother, please. I don't know what I would do if something happened to you." She raised herself on her toes and kissed the corner of his mouth.

"I will. Do not worry. I have the best companions in the Seven Kingdoms protecting me." He said.

"Oh, go apologize to Jeyne. She's still upset." She whispered. He nodded and turned to his mother.

"Mother, I know it's been tough lately, between you and me, but now that I'm going off to war I see how useless it is to fight with my only mother." He apologized.

"Oh Robb, I was never mad at you. I love you. Now don't do anything stupid. Come back, get married, have many grandchildren for me." She admitted.

"I will. I love you mother." He said. He then said goodbye to a select few servants he knew from over the years. Gage the cook, Ser Rodrick, and Hollis Mollen, the captain of the guards now that Jory Cassel was killed protecting his father. He saw Jeyne standing a little way off, watching. He approached.

"Jeyne, I know you are saddened by what I said before, and for that I am sorry." He told her. "I wish things could be different, I truly do." He said truthfully.

"It's okay Robb, I understand. Be safe okay? And promise me one you come back, you come visit me." She smirked.

"Always the deviant." He whispered. They kissed one last time. The people watching eye's grew wind as they saw the display. He mounted his horse and waved to his family one final time.

"Do you want to say goodbye?" He asked Jon, who stood aback throughout.

"I already did last night." He said, looking at Catelyn.

He turned and rode away, knowing that this might be the last time he ever saw his family. Jon and he trotted to the hunter's gate, where the assembled noble men were gathering. He spotted both Jon Umbers, towering above all others. Roose Bolton and his bastard Ramsay were near the front. Maege and Dacey Mormont were the only two women in the party. There was Lord Rickard Karstark and his three sons. Cley and Medger Cerwyn. Halys and Daryn Hornwood, and Wendel Manderly to name a few. They all flew their banners.

He took the place at the head of the force, and Jon somewhere behind him. He was flanked on both sides by Calon and TomToo, who were holding the Stark banners, high and proud. He steeled his resolve. _This is it. The beginning. _"Open." He told the guard at the gate. They raised it. "Forward." He ordered. He moved his horse forward, and the rest followed.

In the town the small folk were waiting. They gathered at the sides of the road and cheered. They threw flower pedals and sang praise. Many girls personally gave him flowers. He would sniff them, thank them, and sometimes wink if they were pretty. That always made them blush.

Outside even more people were standing, waiting to see their sons, husbands, and fathers off the war. They were saying goodbye they were scattered all through out. "Horn." He said. Someone farther back raised a horn to their lips and blew. The sound was mighty and reverberated off the surrounding hills. He blew it again and again for several minutes. The noble men each went off to their respective men as a rendezvous . Robb and Jon went to the front of the main force.

The men organized themselves according to their lord, forming a vast column that contained many rows of men. "Drums!" He yelled. They repeated it down the line. The drums were loud and deep. There were two drummers at the ends of every row. They were used to keep the men in step on the march, as well as to keep them occupied. "Forward!" Robb yelled. They repeated it. And like that they moved. All twenty thousand of his men marching south. They continued, and eventually Robb lost sight of his home for the past nineteen years. With twenty thousand men at his back, his brother, and his companion Grey Wind at his side, he felt like he could take on the world.

* * *

AN: Tell me what you think! Should I continue, or scrap it? I'm sort of a newb when it comes to writing, so give me some advice.

EDIT: Also, I am in need of a BETA. PM.


	2. III

Red Snow

Chapter III: In-Between-Land

Jon

Being a bastard was not easy, but Jon knew for a fact his life was counted among the pampered and easy compared to small folk's. He did not have to work the fields every day of his life, always preparing for the inevitable hunger of winter. Instead he had three meals a day, and a bed to sleep in. Instead of sowing grain he practiced sword and lance, shield and bow. He had free time to do anything he wanted, the price being a few hours a day under the tutelage of Luwin. But, he would have traded any and all of these things to have a real mother and father, to not have to avoid his brother's mother at all costs, for fear of reprisal and belittlement. _"Leave my sight, bastard.", "You sit down there, boy.", "I will not bear the shame of having..._him_...sit with us." _She would say, never using his given name. Jon could never find it in himself to hate her. He understood. He was proof of Ned's imperfection. Proof that, in her eyes, she was not always the first in Ned's heart. That Jon might one day threaten the inheritance of one of her own children. He understood, and he did not hate.

His father was different. Ned's eyes would soften when he caught Catelyn spewing hostilities at him. Ned would snap at her, _"ENOUGH. How many times must I tell you?"_ She would settle, only her eyes betrayed her thoughts. _If eyes could kill... _Ned would apologize on her behalf. But it didn't stop. Ned tried his best to treat him equally as Robb. Teaching him as he did Robb. Taking him on hunting trips, or bringing him along when they visited the strongholds of Ned's bannermen. But it was not the same. It was awkward, formal, not the way a father and son should act. Ned never had a stern talk with him. Ned only told him 'I love you' once. Ned never told him to behave. One time long ago, as a child, when he was still confused and hurt over how he was treated differently than the siblings he was raised with, he started to act up, trying to gain the attention of his father. Jon beat up a younger kid. Catelyn looked triumphant, but Ned knew better. He looked sad and hurt, grey eyes like fog, wet with unfamiliar tears. Ned softly took him by the hand and led him to a place to talk. Jon was sobbing. Ned held him close. That was the only time in Jon's life where Ned hugged him.

"_Why? Why doesn't Lady Stark hug me like she does Robb and Sansa?" Jon choked. "What did I do wrong, father? How can I make it better?" Jon sobbed, confused. _Jon remembered something Farlan the kennel master said _"Children are like dogs. If you beat them enough they begin to think they deserve it."_

"_It's my fault, son." Ned said softly and unsure. "You see, Lady Stark is not your mother like she is Robb's and Sansa's and Arya's, but, you are _my _son, and that's all that matters. Now sometimes you might feel lonely, or abandoned, but that is not true. I love you Jon, don't forget, and I always be with you. Now you will have a hard life, harder than others, but you must remain true and honest, do you understand?" He nodded. _But Jon did forget, for Ned never said so again, ever.

"_Father, who is my mother then?" Jon asked._

"_One day you will know. And on that day nothing will change. It is better left unsaid." Ned said quickly. _Jon did not understand. _What are you hiding?_ _Why take me from my mother, so you can ignore me? _Jon did not understand. He was robbed of love. Of a smile and a hug. It was Ned's fault for siring him. Jon did not understand, and for that he hated Ned, deep inside.

The one thing Jon did value above all else was his relationship with his siblings, Robb and Arya most of all. Arya was a free spirit, determined to defy all expectations and standards. She was the enemy of dresses and sewing circles, and the friend of swords and dirt and the wild. _Why can't I go hunting too! Bran gets to go, and he's younger than me! _She would argue with Catelyn, driving her mad. Catelyn's answer was the same every time. _"Your a lady. You don't see Sansa going on hunting trips." _Jon always felt similar to her. They were outsiders. They spent much time together, exploring and horse riding. She didn't have any friends. There were no girls her age, or boys for that matter. Many people assumed they were true born siblings of Stark. They looked very similar. A stranger would call him Robb, seeing the Stark blood and assuming Jon was the heir of Winterfell. Others would tell Arya that she looked identical to Lyanna Stark at her age. Robb never felt comfortable with Arya. She was so much younger and eager to join them. Robb was always more attentive to Sansa. Sansa who never called Jon by his name, but _half-brother. _She was too soft-hearted to call him a bastard, but to enamored and identical to Catelyn to treat him better.

Currently he stayed true to his boyhood promise, _I'll never leave you, Robb. _He was marching for war. Marching to the beat of drums and dreams, always at the side of Robb. Even their wolves were close. Grey Wind and Ghost never left each others side. The excitement of the first day was long and gone, replaced with saddle sores and restlessness. Leading them always was Robb. A magnificent figure who looked like a king. He was handsome and tall. He wore the best armor and wielded the best sword. He never showed his emotions, through facial expressions or otherwise, much like Jon, until he was with an extremely familiar person. The two of them were still green. Not once have they been in battle. Not once have they killed a man. Jon was not looking forward to it, but he could not avoid it. It was his duty to strike down all who would harm Robb or any of his Northmen brothers.

The noble commanders that answered the banners were diverse and polar. They have been marching for nearly a moon's turn, so Jon got to know most of them fairly well. None of them treated him as a lesser, for in war all men are brothers.

There were two primary bannermen with the host – Jon Umber and Rickard Karstark. They were both fierce men, with roots in the north as long as the Stark's. Jon Umber, or the Greatjon, was as big as his name implied. He stood just short of seven foot, and acted as if he were two feet taller. The greatness of his 'great' did not merely come from his height, but from the broadness of his shoulders and thickness of his arms. Jon could stand side by side with himself and still be less wide that the Greatjon. The Greatjon's hairy forearm was as round as Jon's thigh. Jon knew this because the Greatjon would frequently exit his tent and eat a whole breakfast before realizing he had not put clothes on, giving credit to a rumor of a different nature. Some say the Greatjon gained his nickname on his wedding day. After the bedding his wife proclaimed - "You have a great big cock!"

Jon Umber was an honest man, loyal to a fault, and quick to anger. His son was almost identical in every way. Smalljon was taller than his father, and just as wide. He became a quick friend of Robb's, them being near of age. Both Jon Umbers wielded steel greatswords. They were large and mean and ugly. They wielded them like they were sticks, and still had the strength to hold a shield in their other arm. _They are great and valuable allies, _Jon thought_._

Rickard Karstark was different altogether. He was a gaunt man, with a massive grey beard that hung from his face like moss from a tree. He was gruff and harsh. He was cynical and petty. He brought all three sons with him, Harrion, Eddard, and Torrhen, all of whom were better company than Rickard. Robb once told him the Rickard asked Ned if he would accept his daughter Alys, as a bride for Robb. Ned declined, saying he was not yet contemplating a wife for Robb.

An enigma presented itself in Roose Bolton, also called the Leech Lord, because of his frequent 'cleansing' of bad blood by way of leech bathes. He was cold. Everything about him was cold. His eyes were pale, almost so pale they blended seamlessly with the whites of his eyes, leaving only the blackness of the center. His skin was pale as well. He seemed as if he was a ghost, haunting the living realm with transparent skin. His lips were a thin line, almost nonexistent. He brought a son as well. A bastard like Jon, called Ramsay. Ramsay had long black hair, and eyes like his father. Jon has seen him with his band of bastards as some call them. They are cruel and despicable. The other soldiers despised them, and they seemed to relish the hostility. They brought a pack of dogs with them. They were vicious, beaten often and starved for bloodlust. Most recently the pack leader was found dead. Robb and Jon knew it was Grey Wind and Ghost, admitting they had dreams where they saw it happen.

Currently they were in sight of Moat Cailin. Moat Cailin was an ancient fortress, designed and constructed by the First Men more than ten thousand years ago. It was said that the castle used to have twenty towers, tall and formidable, now, only three remained. The Gate Tower, that stood centrally over the gate that guarded the Kingsroad, The Drunkard's Tower, that leaned at an extremely akward angle, and the Children's Tower, where the Children of the Forest attempted to seperate the North from the South with their magic. It was built of stone, that has turned black after years of exposure. There used to be a curtain wall encompassing yhe castle as high as Winterfell's, but all that remained of it was a small portion that enabled the gate and drawbridge to remain intact. The moat could no longer be considered one, if ever. The banks have eroded, long ago, and became apart of the surrounding bog.

Moat Cailin has been the sole defensive position guarding the North from Southron invasions for thousands of years, and it has not failed, proof in that the Old Gods are worshipped still, free from Andal corruption. In the Neck the Kingsroad was a causeway, surrounded by impassable swamp. To circumvent Moat Cailin would be disasterous, not to mention impossible, to any army. The Crannogmen, expert faregoers of the swamps, would bleed a conventional military force, while guiding northern forces safely through the dangerous swamps. This fact alone made the Reeds, the Lord of the Neck, incredibly vital to the safety of the north. This forced any attacking army to atack Moat Cailin full on. Soldiers are funneled inwards by the Kingsroad, leading them into a killing field. If a garrison had enough supplies, a force of one thousand men positioned in Moat Cailin could hold off an army of a hundred thousand.

"It's a real shit hole, ain't it?" Smalljon said crassly as they finally came into view of the castle. Jon and the other noblemen were riding at the forefront of the host. Smalljon's name was a misnomer in every sense. Like his father he was over seven feet tall, dwarfing any and all. Robb trully looked forward to seeing him in battle, dressed in plate and mail, waiving his massive black warhammer.

"Moat Cailin: home of rats, roaches, and gods know what else." Jon commented from atop his brown palfrey.

"At least we'll finally sleep with a roof over our heads." Dacey Mormont said. Dacey Mormont was heiress to Bear Island. She was tall for a woman, and taller than most men, at about six feet. She had straight, raven black hair that contrasted sharply with her milky white skin and full red lips. She had forest green eyes, laced with tinges of hazel brown. Many men questioned Dacey and her mother's credentials in regards to them being allowed to fight. The nobility of Bear Island had been abandoned by all of it's male members, so as a result they have been forced to mirror the women smallfolk and take up arms against Iron Island and Wildling raiders.

"I wouldn't be so sure. It looks as if half the bricks are gone." Robb noticed.

"Let's just hope it doesn't rain then." Jon said.

"Well, either rats learned how to make fire, or there are some squatters." Jon said, pointing to smoke drifting upwards out of the Gate Tower's roof.

"Huh. Thats a sodding piss poor roof." Dacey said. Robb wasn't the only one that stared at her in amazement. "What? A girl isn't allowed to speak her mind?" She said sharply.

The host began to set up camp, while the noblemen rode to Moat Cailin, where they would stay until they were resupplied. The back of the fortress was in a worse shape than the front. The back walls were almost none existent. Robb was able to see the interior from outside. To his right was the beginnings of the Fever River. At this point it wasn't a river, but more swamp. Further west, where the ground began to harden and dry, the Fever widened and emptied into the Saltspear.

"Allow me to go first, brother." Jon said as they reached the rear of the castle. The castle formed an arching tunnel over the length of the Kingsroad. On both sides were entrances inside.

"And me." The Smalljon added. He and Greatjon went right, towards the Children's Tower, while the Karstarks Rickard, Harrion, Eddard, and Torrhen went left to the Drunkard's Tower. Jon, Robb, Dacey and Maege Mormont, and his squires. walked up the central staircase to the Gatehouse Tower. The inside of the fortress was a pitiful mess. Sunlight flittered in through the plentiful cracks and holes in the roof, and moss grew all along the walls and floors. The staircase Jon was walking up had more than one collapsed step, and Jon swore he heard footsteps that were not those of his companions.

After the winding staircase ended at the top floor of the Gate Tower Robb, Jon, and the two Mormont women drew their weapons, and found a lone man eating bread and cheese around a fire that was set in the middle of the circular room, instead of the hearth.

"What business have you here? I am Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell. My lords bannermen and I will be using these towers for ourselves. You are welcome to camp with my host down the road." Robb informed the man, sheathing his sword once he found the man nonthreatening. The man had a high born face, much like his own, with shoulder length grey hair and blue eyes. He had a longsword nearby, but made no move of reaching for it. It was not his face that caught Robb's attention, but the man's coat of arms. It was the Tully trout leaping, only the fish was black.

"Robb Stark." The man said, standing up and holding up his hands. "The last time I saw you, you were a mere babe, suckling on my niece's teat." He admitted.

"Neice? You must be Ser Brynden, the man my mother speaks greatly of, my great uncle." Robb figured, surprised.

"Yes, that is me. She is well, I hope, and your siblings?" He asked.

"When I left nearly a moon's turn ago they were. What brings you here, of all places, uncle?" Robb asked.

"I was on my way to Winterfell to visit your mother. I figure we have much to talk about. Over wine and bread perhaps?" Brynden asked.

"Of course." Robb agreed. He nodded to his squires to retrieve what was asked of. Wine was retrieved and stories were exchanged. At first they just got to know each other. Jon stayed quietly mostly, listening to his brother and great uncle. Robb always was the better talker. He knew what to say, and wasn't to shy to say it, unlike Jon.

"Your father, bless him, did the best he could as Hand. He ruled while Robert drank. He ran the household while Robert fucked, all the while fending off the Lannisters and their little devil child Joffrey. He did this for five years, amazingly. I heard he did everything he could to get Robert to dismiss him, but your father was doing to good a job." Brynden explained.

"Now the letter I received from Stannis Baratheon says that Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen Baratheon are not Baratheons at all, but Lannisters. It states that Queen Cersei has been having an illicit affair with her brother the Kingslayer, who sired the three children, allegedly. All these accusations were first made by your father" Brynden continued, pausing to sip wine.

"Shortly after this is when Robert died while hunting. He died knowing his children were not his children at all, how sad. Before dying though, Robert made Ned Lord Protector of the Realm, but without Robert's protection the Lannisters called him a traitor and locked him in the black cells. Now the last thing your father did was sending Lord Beric Dondarrion in command of five thousand men to stop the raiding of Gregor Clegane in the Riverlands. They were destroyed. Ambushed on a ford and all but obliterated. Dondarrion then formed the Brotherhood without banners, who fight in the name of King Robert and Ned Stark, against the Lannisters. It's been said that's he has been slain at least twice now, but he always shows up another place as well as can be expected." Brynden finished.

"What were you doing before? I mean you obviously were not at Riverrun." Jon asked.

"Ah, yes. For a long time I have been serving your mother's sister, Lysa Arryn, as the Knight of the Bloody Gate, the fortress that protects the passage to the Eyrie. When word of the siege of Riverrun reached us I tried to convince her to send a force to lift the siege. She refused. I was furious. She was abandoning her brother and father, who is sick on his death bed, and all the people she grew up with. I took a group of twenty-five men loyal to me, and we were headed to Winterfell to see your mother, and try and convince you to come to the aid of Riverrun, but I see you saved me the trouble." Brynden expanded.

"Yes. I assume you will be marching with us? A man of your talents will be greatly valued, and besides I would enjoy becoming familiar with you great-uncle." Robb asked.

"Absolutely. Visiting my favorite niece and your siblings will have to wait." The Blackfish answered without hesitation. Jon noticed that Brynden was staring at Robb peculiarly.

"Have I done something to offend?" Robb asked cautiously.

"No, nothing of that sort. It's just, you look precisely like my father, your great-grandfather, except for your eyes, of course, those are the eyes of winter. I finally remember what he looked like just now, staring at you." Brynden answered offhandedly, gazing off into memory.

"What was his name?" Jon asked.

"Tristifer. Like the old Kings of the Rivers." The Blackfish responded.

That first night they held a small feast in the ruined halls of Moat Cailin in the honor of the Lord Stark's great-uncle Ser Brynden Tully. For the first time in his life Jon sat at the high table, on Robb's left. He felt ecstatic. He was accepted and he was in good company. He laughed and enjoyed himself.

They stayed at the Moat for three days. On the second night fifteen boats came up the Fever from Barrowton and delivered supplies to the army for the two thirds of the journey still left.

* * *

It was a week after they left Moat Cailin. The sides along the road have long ago began to sink, turning into bog and swamp. The trees gradually began to sink lower and lower into the water until only the top halves broke the surface of the water. There were bright, colorful flowers, yellow and red ones that grew taller than two men atop another. They grew plentiful and numerous, because one bite of it's fruit made man and animal alike keel over in pain and die within the hour. There was a plethora of creatures inhabiting the swamps, most of them capable of killing a man, painfully. There were lizard-lions, which sometimes grew thirty feet long. The lay, just on the surface of the water, for something to be foolish enough to take a swim. They looked like great tree trunks that have fallen over. There were other lizards, smaller, under a foot long. Their necks puffed up red when threatened, and if the threat didn't disappear, it would spit poison at it's eyes, melting and dissolving them.

Because of the swamps and bogs the host was forced to make camp on the Kingsroad itself. This forced the camp to stretch on for a great distance, as the road was only four tents wide, forming a long tent-filled snake, slithering through the bog like an indigenous.

The believers of the Seven believed there were seven hells, each one progressively more vile and painful than the last. _This place is reserved for kinslayers and sadists, _Jon thought. It was not just hot, but humid and sticky and wet, always wet. Sometimes the Kingsroad dipped low where it was flooded with dirty bog water. If not for his horse he might be among the poor souls who have developed Wet Foot. Some of the soldiers walked in a constant state of wetness. Their feet began to blister. Sores opened on their feet. They got infected and began to puss, and their feet began to rot from the inside, exuding a foul smell of rot and death.

"This is near the area where Greywater Watch should be, right?" Jon asked Roose Bolton.

"Yes. Somewhere to the west of here, although no one can really say for sure." Bolton replied.

"Why do you say that?" Jon asked, confused.

"Greywater Watch is a small castle made of timber. It is positioned so all parts of the Neck can be reached as quickly as possible. The reason no one can know it's exact location, except for the crannogmen, is because it is built on a large floating island of moss and dead trees. It floats around the central area of the Neck. Sometimes they go for years on end without a scrap of information of the wider world, seeing as how ravens cannot find them." Bolton explained.

"So how does anyone find them?" Jon asked.

"They don't. Greywater Watch finds you. Usually someone from the household is waiting in a town, and if their need is of importance they will be brought to the castle." Bolton said quietly. They rode in silence side by side for some time. Although Jon found Bolton and his personality discomforting, but he could not deny that he made good conversation.

"Have you ever been in battle, Lord Bolton?" Jon asked.

"I have. The Battle of the Trident. I fought alongside King Robert himself." Bolton answered.

"Do you have any advice?" Jon asked, eager to gain any advantage.

"Do not hesitate. In war there are only two options – live... or die. Sometimes it is better to be dishonorable, but still have your head on your shoulders, opposed to an honorable death, if there is such a thing." Bolton replied. "No matter how sweet and sugared a man's words are, or how true a man's sword is, that same man will slit your throat with a smile on his face, if he knew it would benefit him." Bolton advised.

"Don't listen to that craven!" The Greatjon roared from Jon's other side. "I always tell my men, 'You scoundrels fight for yer brother, for the man at yer side,' I tell 'em, 'Because if you dishonor your brothers, or me, I'll have your head on my mantle!' If a man can live with the shame of dishonor on the battlefield, and still show his face, he is no man at all!"

"How amusing." The Leech Lord said without a hint of amusement on his face, "Perhaps I am wrong, but I do not recall you even being present at the battle, or any battle for that matter. Where were _you, _Umber?" Bolton said.

Jon trotted forward towards Robb while the two lords exchanged pleasantries. He could still hear Umber's booming voice, but Bolton's whispered words disappeared with the wind. Robb was talking to Dacey Mormont and Smalljon Umber.

"You haven't been in battle before?" The Smalljon exclaimed, "Even this har' womanly type crushed a few skulls on her rock!" The Smalljon jibbed.

"Our little Robb is a wee little green boy!" Dacey said, laughing.

"Brother! Tell these heathens that me and you are the fiercest, most feared warriors in the North. How the small folk tremble with fear as we pass, how villains surrender without even seeing our steel!" Robb joked.

"It's all true! Every word. He _is _the most feared warrior, but then the sun rises, and he wakes up!" Jon exclaimed as they all laughed.

"I'll show you lot. I'll spill more Lannister blood than any of you! And I bet Grey Wind will get more of 'em than _you _Smalljon!" Robb wagered. They continued joking and laughing for a while, soon they came upon a small village. The huts of the village sat upon wooden boardwalks that were supported my fat logs. The town stretched on both sides of the road. There many canoes tied up, and many more spots empty.

As they passed through the villagers came out of their straw and wooden huts, and stared oddly at them. They were queer people. They were very short. The tallest of them would have only stood up to Robb's shoulder. Very few of them wore cloth, but lion-lizard skin or just woven straw. Many of them had green eyes. The others had earthly brown. The fishermen Jon could see on the bogs were equipped with wooden tridents and straw nets. The village was very poor. It was likely they didn't even use the currency of the rest of the Kingdom.

Nobody approached them or attempted to speak, but when they almost had passed through completely a canoe banked on the western shore. Inside was a family - a man, woman, son, and daughter, accompanied by two more crannogmen. They looked similar to the rest of the villagers – short and brown haired, but obviously wealthier and better groomed. They all wore a coat of arms of a lizard-lion on a murky green field on their breasts. Jon and Robb halted next to them and dismounted.

"Greetings. I am Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell. My brother Jon." Robb said, motioning at Jon. As Robb mention his name, Jon noticed Howland's eyes flitting uncertainly to him.

"Hello Lord Stark. I am Howland Reed. My wife Jyana. My two children, Meera and Jojen." Reed introduced. Howland Reed was an average sized man, tall compared to the other Crannogmen. He had neat brown hair and murky green eyes, almost black, and a pointy nose. He had comically large ears that stuck from his head like sails do from a ship. His wife was comely. She had brown hair that reached the small of her back. The girl looked to be about one and seven, while the boy one and three. There was an odd look about the boy. He had a sullenness about him usually reserved for those much older. The oddness what just of his stature and demeanor, but his eyes as well. They were unnaturally green. Bright and solid, like the fanciful dyes of the southron court. Jojen did not avert his eyes when his and Jon's met, merely stared back, observing unflinchingly.

"Well met my Lord. Shall we have words?" Robb asked.

"Of course. But I warn you, I did not come here to follow you south, merely to wish you a safe journey and many victories. And also to offer my dearest condolences, in regards to your father, he was a dear friend of mine. He and I have been on many adventures together." Howland explained. Howland and Robb walked off a ways where they talked in private.

"You are not considered true born, yet you have a direwolf all the same." Jojen said to him without hesitation. Jon was surprised the boy knew of their direwolves. They were not around at the moment. The boy spoke with softly and slowly, while never averting his perceptive gaze.

"How did you know of our wolves?" Jon asked.

"I saw it of course." Jojen replied.

"Oh. I thought they ran off some place hunting. Did you see them when you were rowing here?" Jon asked.

"No. I did not see them today, I saw them before. About a week prior. I knew you and your brother would be marching south, and I knew that in turn, my sister and I must journey north." Jojen expanded quietly. At this point Jon was beyond confused. He thought that the boy was playing a trick on him. Jon glanced at Jojen's sister and mother for clarification.

"Jojen is a Greenseer, you see. He has prophetic visions called 'Green Dreams'. They allow him to see what is to come, and what must be done." Jyana said proudly, as if what she said explained everything. Jon knew of the Children of the Forest, and heard of Greenseers, but wasn't aware any actually existed. _The crannogmen really are devoted completely and wholeheartedly to the Old Gods, and they were rewarded. _Jon thought.

"A Greenseer? What did you see? Why must you go north? Is someone in danger?" Jon asked bemused.

"I am uncertain of what I saw." Jojen answered. "I saw a winged wolf, a direwolf, chained, struggling to be free, and the three-eyed crow cawing in encouragement. I know now that I am destined to lead this imprisoned wolf to the three-eyed crow." He continued, staring blindly into dream.

"Really? Who do you think it is? Are they in danger?" Jon asked worried, still uncertain if he believed or not.

"I know that is not you or Lord Stark, but another, a gentle soul, one that is worthy of what is to come." Jojen said.

"It must be Sansa. She would never willingly hurt anyone." Jon guessed.

"No." Jojen continued, "It is a boy, and soon, a prince." Jojen said. At this point Robb and Howland Reed finished conversing and approached. _A prince?_

"Lord Stark has agreed that the two of you will be fostered at Winterfell for the foreseeable future." Howland told Meera and Jojen. They nodded in acceptance.

"Jojen, you will make a good friend to Bran, and Meera, you to Sansa. May our two families grow close with friendship, as our fathers before us have done." Robb announced.

"Well said my Lord." Howland said. "If you would forgive us, we must be on our way. It is never a good idea to leave Greywater Watch for to long a time."

Robb nodded and galloped up back to the front of the column, but Jon stayed behind, wishing to ask a question, but before he could Howland Reed spoke to him.

"Jon Snow. I will be quick about this. Did your father ever tell you of your true parentage?" He asked.

"He told me I was better off not knowing." Jon replied, confused.

"When you are finished with this folly, find me again, and I will answer all the questions that have undoubtedly burned inside your heart." Howland told him. At this Jon became angry.

"What is there to know? My mother is probably just some whore from someplace. My father told me I was better off not knowing, to shield me from the shame." Jon said, red with anger. _Who is this fool to tell me what is not his business?_

"No, Jon." Howland continued calmly. "Your mother is not a whore. She was special, incredibly so, and so are you, more than you realize, more that _anyone _realizes."

"Why can't you just tell me now? What if I die. I die never knowing the truth." Jon asked.

"Because, if you are who I believe you to be, you will find that you cannot die, that death exudes you from it's grace, as if it were a blind man sailing a ship." Howland said.

"Go now. Find success on the field and in your heart, with a sword in hand, and your friends at your side, for you are wreathed in _Ice and Fire."_

* * *

_Review, tell me what you tink_


	3. IV

Red Snow

Chapter IV: The Price

Robb

Walder Frey was a nasally man. He was shrewd and niggardly, had watery grey eyes that narrowed at every paranoid thought that washed through his splotched white skull. He was old, and in his old age his heart burned with passionate hatred for all the noble and ancient houses that turned their noses at him and slighted him at every chance. He sat pompously on his grand oak chair, carved with the picture of the identical castles that made up their seat called the Twins. When the occasion arose he had to be towed to and from his chair whenever nature called. Six servants would lift his fragile body and placed him on a canvas stretcher, then took him to a side door in the back of the hall.

"Why, pray tell me, boy, should _I_ open _my _bridge to your band of marauding, frozen northmen, who reek of shit and hunger?" Walder Frey said as his wrinkly brow crinkled in perceived superiority. Walder Frey had many children and they children and they children and even they children. His hall was infested with his weak chinned, grey eyed, rat-like descendents, who stood in rows along the width of the walls.

Robb stood tall and rigid, absorbing the scarcely veiled insults of the decrepit and vile old man who turned his nose at him, most likely because Robb was of a noble and ancient house. Robb's beard was out, reddish brown from days on the march. He stood in his perfectly dirtless steel armor, that glistened insultingly in the eyes of the Freys.

"Lord Frey. I come here, with every viable and conceivable intention, to pay the price, of your choosing, to cross your bridge, which stands in the way of me and your liege lord in Riverrun, who is suffering the pangs of slow starvation at the hands of Lannister besiegement." Robb responded stoically and hard tongued.

"_Oh, _how _noble _of you!" Walder Frey cackled. "If you haven't noticed boy, the Tully's are _my _liege lords, not _yours. _So, my question to you is, why should I allow Northmen to run rampant through my lands, when I have no security whatsoever of their behavior?"

"Name your price, my lord, and it will be met. You have my word we will only do what I have said here before you." Robb said slowly and deliberately, remaining patient, and keeping his temper within civil confinements.

"Your word means nothing to me, boy, what concerns me is your ability, or inability, if that is the situation, to pay the price I here ask."

"Name the price you here ask, and your concerns will be addressed swiftly." Robb responded quickly, eager to conclude negotiations with a nonnegotiable man.

"You are impatient, boy, it is my advice you remain cordial in such a formal setting." Walder Frey chastised hypocritically. Robb did everything within his power not to burst in furious frustration and slice the old man's head off.

"I will keep that in mind."

"That is good of you, boy."

"Now, your price?"

"What price? Who are you boy? Are you one of Haigh's brood, come to bother me with your insufferable mishaps? Well the answer is no, as usual." Walder Frey said, as a confounded mist enclosed his eyes.

"The price of my army crossing your bridge." Robb replied, unsure.

"An army! At my gates!? You dare bring an army to my doorstep you insipid bug!" Walder Frey hollered angrily. As quickly as the old man erupted, his eldest son Stevron Frey rushed up to the raised dais and whispered into his ear. Stevron Frey was vastly unlike his father, similar only in his desire for power, namely the title his father held greedily. He was an old man himself, but still had a strong voice and a strong arm of the sword. He was comely and soft eyed. He was affable and kind, and constantly praying for his father's death.

"I see." Walder Frey said, realization dawning on his unfortunate face. "Leave you rotten lot. I'll talk to him alone." Walder Frey ordered. The mass of sad brown haired, grey eyed, weak chinned Freys filed out orderly, off to fight bitterly for any advantage they could gain in the war of inheritance.

"So, a price you ask for, and a price you shall receive." Walder Frey continued as if nothing happened.

"Yes, a price." Robb agreed. "For the benefit of Riverrun and the Tullys and for you."

"But not to the benefit of you? What is your agenda, boy? You come here making demands, like I'm some dish washing, chamber pot scrubbing, servant, and you don't even feel the need to explain to me your reasoning and motives?" Walder Frey sputtered with each pronounced and emphasized syllable, while spittle flew from his toothless mouth.

"No hidden motives, I assure you, now if you could just name your pric-."

"Price, price, price, price, you keep asking for my price like I'm some common whore!" Walder Frey whined childishly. "Well I don't need gold. My coffers are flooded with golden dragons, and I have no need of your penniless army, so I see no reason for you to pass." Walder Frey admitted finally. Robb was just happy he was finally given something other than a dagger to his pride.

"So, you price is, you don't have a price? You are refusing me passage?" Robb confirmed.

"Don't twist my words, boy! Everything has a price." Walder Frey said.

"What is your price then?" Robb sighed.

"Don't get short with me, boy." Walder Frey told him.

"My lord, my time is shrinking, I need an answer soon, if at all possible."

"You speak to _me _of _time_?" Walder Frey asked. "I have outlived six wives, or seven? Let's see one, two three, four, fiv- no, she was a wench, five, si-, it is of little importance!" He yelled finally. "Now, the price of you and your army crossing my bridge is of no relation to gold, or perhaps it is. What I ask is for you to do something with all these worthless descendents of mine, who do nothing but name their spawn Walder and Walda, like that would make me favor them? I don't even know any of their names, I hardly even know my own children's names! When I see one of them, I don't know their name, so I just yell Walder! You go to this and that, and they always do it! Ha!" Walder Frey laughed. "They just fight and argue like vultures over a carcass, and _I'm _the carcass! I may be old, but my heart's still beating! They're all cold, ungrateful little bastards, and I hate them." Walder Frey rambled.

"So...?"

Walder Frey tilted his head back and shouted into the ceiling, "Heavenly Father, this boy needs to respect his elders, and shut his damn hole!" The silent wooden rafters remained silent, and the pigeons cooed and ruffled their feathers in indignation.

"Ahem, as I was saying, you will marry one of my daughters, your eldest sister will marry one of my boys, your eldest brother will marry one of my girls, some boys will be wards in Winterfell, you will take boys as squires, and my sons will be on your council, and lead regiments of my men, four-thousand in total. That is my price, nonnegotiable." Walder Frey finally declared.

"This is a great price for the crossing of your bridge. Only my sister and brother will marry. I must marry a northern girl." Robb declared.

"No. You must marry."

"Just me."

"No."

"Three of my other siblings."

"No."

"All four of my other siblings." Robb declared desperately. Walder Frey contemplated the offer before promptly declaring-

"No."

"My youngest sister and I."

"Deal. You may pass." Walder Frey announced to the empty court with a snide smirk on his face. "I expect the marriage to commence when you return this way when the war is finished."

Robb met his councilors outside the eastern gate which was half of the Twins.

"What happened?" Jon asked, worried.

"I made a deal with the devil."

"The devil?"

"Walder Frey."

"How much?"

"Arya and I."

"Excuse me?"

"Arya and I must marry two of them."

"Oh." Jon said quietly.

"Who?" Jon asked.

"He told me to just, line them up, and pick whichever tickles my fancy."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"I'm sure it won't be so bad."

"If any of them have a fraction of the same blood as that hairless, miserable, bitter old man, than, yes Jon, it will be that bad."

"He was that bad?"

"More than you can imagine."

"I imagine a wretched old toothless man."

"Worse."

"But he's letting us pass."

"Yes."

"We didn't even have to pay him."

"Yes we did."

"With gold, I mean."

"Some things are worth more than gold."

"I suppose so. But not in this case." Jon disagreed. They stayed quiet, contemplating the most recent change of events.

"Four thousand of his men are joining our ranks." Robb said to break the silence.

"What?" Jon asked surprised.

"Four thousand-"

"No, I heard. That's incredible, brother!"

"But the price I must pay."

"All for the good of the people! Just imagine, we stick the Freys in the front of our army, have them climb the walls first of Lannister castles! Have _them _get boiling tubs of oil dumped on their faces instead of our brothers."

"The price..."

"Yes, so you may not love her, but what does it matter? You fuck her, she pops out some sons, by the looks of it Frey women are as fertile as the lands they till."

"They'll be rotten little bastards, sullied by bad blood, and I don't want the North to be inherited by these people."

"Your half of these people, you know."

"I'm half Tully, that's entirely different, and although I may look of the south, I am one with Winter."

"Yes, I apologize, brother, but don't be so down."

"But, the price." Robb said forlornly and dejectedly, looking at the ground with sad eyes.

"Necessary. A sacrifice."

"I won't do it."

"You have to."

"Not if she dies."

"You wouldn't kill an innocent girl."

"Of course not." Robb said staring at Jon in morbid excitement.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"NO."

"You wouldn't let your own brother live a life of drudgery and despair by the hands of a petty, imbecilic, weasel wench? ?"

"Would you?"

"Are you marrying a Frey?"

"I don't know, am I? You seem to be selling your siblings off as of late."

"There's enough Freys. I'm sure the old man would allow you to marry one if you wished."

"I don't want to marry one." Jon explained.

"We'll kill each others Frey wife." Robb pleaded.

"No. The gods will cut you down if you do it."

"The gods don't have Heart Trees here. They can't see."

"Then their gods will."

"The idol worshiper's gods have no power, nor sway, over me."

"Regardless."

"I will form a plan. I'll hire a man for the job."

"Men plan, and the gods laugh."

"Enough of your depressing religious preaching."

"What is a man without honor? You must always keep your word. Don't kill the girl."

"I distinctly recall Walder Frey say 'your word means nothing'."

"He was making a point."

"A valid point I have come to agree with."

"What's that?"

"A man's honor is only as good as how sharp his blade is."

"And Walder Frey has enough sharp swords to make you bleed a slow, painful death. Remember the four-thousand men he 'gifted' you?"

"I'll let Roose Bolton's bastard peel that Old Man's wrinkly skin right off, and I'll hang it from the rafters. Have you heard of what they say of him, by the way?" Robb asked.

"I hear nothing, but see fear, gut wrenching fear."

"Bad things, I think. Stick him in the front, I think."

"I don't agree. He might be useful."

"How so?" Robb asked.

"Raiding and reaving. Burning villages and stealing cattle and burning crops, as much as it pains me to say – he would be perfect for the job."

"Putting a man like _that _in command of a regiment? Could be a disaster."

"Hopefully the disaster will occur in Lannister lands."

"Hopefully. Anyway, we must call the war council." Robb declared.

There was a new addition to the war council - Stevron Frey, as per the agreement with Walder Frey. Stevron was the oldest man there, and Robb the youngest. They met inside a large chamber in the Eastern castle of the Twins.

"Let us begin. As you might have noticed, Stevron Frey has joined us in our congregation, for Lord Walder Frey of the Crossing has permitted the use of his bridge, to us, and has pledged four thousand men-at-arms to our cause." Robb informed the group. They all cheered and clapped in response.

"What was the price charged?" Roose Bolton asked solemnly, always the one to sour the mood. The others quietened in frightful anticipation as they contemplated the amount of gold they would have to give up from their personal coffers.

"Yea? How much 'as the weasel charged us?" The Gretjon asked loudly, either ignorant or uncaring of Stevron Frey's presence.

Robb cleared his voice. "Walder Frey and I have agreed on a price of a unique nature."

"Such as?" Karstark asked impatiently.

"My sister, Arya, is to marry a Frey boy." The council did not look upset by this, instead they found the news to be good.

"That's a bargain!"

"Which one's Arya?"

"Lord negotiator!" Were among some things shouted.

"Councilmen! That is not all." Robb announced. They quietened again. "I, also, am to marry a Frey girl, of my choosing."

They took the news with mixed feelings.

"Your father married a Southron! It's time for the Lords of Winter to start marrying northern girls again!" Someone yelled. Most yelled in agreement.

"Many of us assembled have daughters who are nice northern maids, willing to marry, and give nice northern sons to inherent the north!" Karstark yelled. That was in fact, not true. There were, in fact, not that many nice northern maids of the same, or near the same, age as Robb, but the councilmen did not feel the need to voice that. Rickard Karstark only yelled that because, many years ago, Robb's father spurned Karstark's marriage proposal between Robb and his daughter, of which his pride was still recovering.

"Enough!" Robb commanded. "I have agreed to these terms willingly, as were presented, and I will keep my word, and marry a Frey girl. Now, that is the end of that matter, because we must discuss now our next move." Robb finished deliberately. The disgruntled councilmen stayed disgruntled, but they were no longer shouting over one another, but grumbled quietly instead.

"Now Riverrun lay besieged to the west. They are our main priority. It is unlikely that the castle will be stormed, due to it's highly defensible position, yet they remain there, starving. So, we must ride as quickly as possible. It is also of note that Tywin Lannister holds Harrenhal with a force of twenty thousand men, and controls this portion of the Kingsroad." Robb said, encircling a part of the Kingsroad on the map in the middle of the table. "And he can move swiftly, easily, and without opposition to nearly every part of the south."

"With the addition of the Frey's men, the size of our host is now twenty-four thousand, nine thousand horse, and fifteen thousand infantry."

"We must split our host. The cavalry rides first and engages the enemy at Riverrun. The majority of the host will follow later." Jon said.

"A good plan."

"We cannot do that with Tywin sitting on the Kingsroad and in Harrenhal. It will take him much less time for his men to reach Riverrun than ours. Say our horse liberates Riverrun, than we have Tywin's host there, and we are in the same situation, but our men are split and weakened." Brynden Tully said.

"What do you suggest?" Jon asked.

"We do split up our horse and foot, but the majority of the infantry and four thousand horse move south to engage Tywin Lannister, while diverting attention away from Riverrun, and allowing our horse to surprise the Kingslayer."

"That is risky." Roose Bolton observed. "What if Lannister's intelligence network is existent this far north? Are cavalry will be ambushed and our host will be stranded."

"And if we don't do it?" Brynden countered. "If we take our whole host south to Riverrun? We would be outnumbered greatly. It is know that the force surrounding Riverrun is numbered at fourteen thousand. Coupled with Tywin Lannister's force at Harrenhal, we stand no chance."

"Yes. I do like the strategy Ser Brynden presents. All in agreement?" Robb asked. It was irrelevant what they all agreed, because Robb had the final decision and would pick which one he wanted. Most everybody voiced affirmation.

"Now I would go west to liberate Riverrun and my mother's family, along with the noble sons and daughters that will consist of my honor guard." Robb explained. "Who will command the main host?" Robb asked.

Many men of the war council stood all at once.

"I will." Jon Umber volunteered first in a thunderous boom, as he stood up and slapped the table, sending wine chastises tumbling.

"I will." Rickard Karstark offered in a gruff tone.

"I will." Roose Bolton whispered gently.

"I will." Stevron Frey announced proudly.

"I will." Wylis Manderly yawned lazily from his chair.

"A difficult decision." Jon remarked wisely.

"Indeed." Robb agreed. The objective was not to pick the best candidate for the position, but to pick the person who will offend the least amount of people. "But that is for tomorrow. Right now- we feast!" Robb changed the subject quickly, avoiding the pressure of picking a second in command. Ordinarily the post would go to the most decorated, the most experienced, or in many cases, the closest friend of the commander.

The men and one woman clambered out of the chamber and towards the great hall that smelled of honeyed ham, sweet summer wine, and chalky smoke. "Who do I choose?" Robb asked Jon.

"Whomever you want." He replied.

It was moments like this when Robb needed advice desperately. Jon always had held Robb's interests as his own, but Jon was not experienced enough to serve as a personal adviser to the commander of a host his size. Robb needed his father. He would know what to do, who to pick.

Jon Umber was the easy choice. He was the eldest man out of them all. He was bold, courageous, honorable, loyal, and a great warrior, but as every coin has two sides, he was reckless and often times dull and oblivious. His pride would be injured greatly if not chosen, but could be convinced easily that his presence was needed at the side of the Starks.

Rickard Karstark was Robb's next choice. He was not needed especially at Robb's side. He didn't offer much, except his soldiers from his own lands, who were big and hairy. Despite this he enticed the respect of the men he commanded, through fear and threats. He was not lovable, entirely the opposite. He was cruel, mean, and petty. Rickard Karstark, in Robb's opinion, would be the first of his bannermen to cause problems. All the more reason to grant him the position, or deny him? Robb was confused. He couldn't ask anyone but himself. Everyone around him vied for personal gain. They wanted to acquire the most gold from plundering the Westerlands and the Crownlands, they wanted war prizes, they wanted jewels and they wanted new 'servants', who were really just slaves. That was the real reason they showed up.

Roose Bolton was a conundrum. He was queer. He was called the Leech Lord mockingly behind his back, never in his company for fear of similar consequence of the man who did so once. He was taken into the bowels of the icy Dreadfort, never to be seen again, but his tortured wailing and groans of pain are still heard through the thick stone flooring and walls. He bled the bad blood from his system, leaving only an emotionless shell with cold empty eyes. He whispered like a frightened child, but was anything but. Unlike Umber and Karstark he was cautious and paranoid. He skills in battle were not exemplary, merely passable, and do to this rose his aptitude for politics and intellect. If Robb chose Roose Bolton he was afraid it would insult the other lords more than if he picked Jon Umber or Rickard Karstark. Choosing Roose Bolton would be a direct affront to Rickard Karstark, who was positioned directly over Bolton and was his liege lord.

Stevron Frey and Wylis Manderly were out of the question. Robb would have a mutiny on his hands if he allowed a Southron to take command of Northern men. Wylis Manderly was almost to fat to sit a horse, and to fat to even care that he was almost to fat to sit a horse. He was in no state to lead thousands of men, even though his father was the richest lord in the north.

Jon left for the feast, but Robb stayed behind and thought further on the turn his life took. Outside his guardsmen yelped in fright and terror.

"Let him in you cravens!" Robb yelled at them through the door, knowing without really knowing that the source of fright was Grey Wind. The door swung open quickly and the great best strode in menacingly. The beast knew he frightened people just by barring his teeth and growling throatily, and took great pleasure in doing so.

"Hello friend. How fare you?" Robb asked, honestly expecting an answer.

The wolf yawned and curled up at his feet in response.

"Well, I suppose." Robb guessed. "I, on the other hand, am not doing so well. Gods, who should I choose?" He said and looked into Grey Wind's eyes. A sweet coolness washed over him and whispered in his ear, and at that moment he knew who _not _to choose.

* * *

The feast was drunk, rowdy, and sweaty, in other words, an average feast. The ale, wine, and mead flowed freely from fat oak barrels, while skinny mongrels fought for scraps under the lower tables and shapely serving girls brought legs of mutton to the gluttons patrons.

Robb envied Jon and the other less entitled, who sat merrily on the lower tables, joking and laughing. Jon was adequately drunk and was caught in a myriad of wet kisses, received from a servant girl transformed into a maiden princess by the power of copious amounts of ale consumed.

Robb, on the other hand, had the great misfortune of being the guest of honor. This meant that Robb was required to sit on Walder Frey's right side, which, supposedly, was far worse than his left side. All through the feast he never once ceased in his perpetual quest of spewing and spitting foul, quarrelsome, and nasty insults.

Robb decided to distract himself from his depressing situation by drinking and eying women and the sweet swell of their bosoms and the curve of their backside. He spied a girl that made him itch, and cursed his spell of sex sobriety. She had a small gap between her front teeth that made her even more comely. She reminded him of Jeyne Poole and the life he left behind in Winterfell. _What if the next time I return home Rickon is a man, mother looks like Old Nan, and Jeyne has forgotten me?_

He spotted the girl smiling at him and bash her eyelashes, as drunk and unabashed as a sailor. He decided to fuck away his regrets and worries. He walked down from the high table of inflated egos and down to where she was sitting.

"I'll dance with you, but I won't let you fuck me." She said at once.

"Who asked you?" He asked her.

"You don't want to fuck me?" She asked confused in drunken honesty.

"I don't want to dance." Robb answered her in drunken honesty. She giggled and he smiled.

"What's your name?" Robb asked.

"Roslin."

"Well, dear Roslin, would you care to see my sword?" He asked. "It's big and scary looking."

"Sure...?"

* * *

When can we get to the killing? I'm bored.


End file.
